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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26018980">Shook the Noose</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Earl_Grey/pseuds/Earl_Grey'>Earl_Grey</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Maze Runner (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Death, Ghosts, Hanging, M/M, Multi, Revenge, Thomas/Newt/Minho - Freeform, Thominewt, ghost - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:55:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,008</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26018980</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Earl_Grey/pseuds/Earl_Grey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas, Newt, and Minho are three ghosts drawn to the last vestiges of their revenge.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Shook the Noose</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Not a happy story. One Shot.</p><p>Also, it's definitely inspired by the new creepshow short that I just watched.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thomas had remembered the way they had died. The way he had died. Alone and clawing, and screaming for each other. It had been years and years. While he continued to sway from a tree, the feeling on the rope around his neck long since a distant memory, he could see his two lovers. Their faces gaunt and eyes mirroring his motions. Swaying left and then right, over and over again until they get their revenge. Three days of freedom every year for the three days of suffering it took for the final member of the trio to draw their last breath. Thomas would think the angry mob would have been able to tie a proper noose. But no, he and Newt had not been so lucky. He wasn't sure which one had died last. Thomas could have sworn he had seen Newt draw his final breath before him. But, in the end, it didn't matter. </p><p>The three of them were dead after all and tonight, tonight they would be allowed to reap vengeance. Take the last few lives and rip them from the bodys that had caused them so much pain. That was the deal given to them by the shadows. Three days every year until the deed was done. Then, and only then, would they be allowed to float into the depths of oblivion. Thomas used to be scared of disappearing, of making all these memories only to have them slip from him and be rendered moot. Until he had nothing but the visage of the loves of his life hanging alongside him for the other three hundred and sixty two days of the year. Until there was nothing to feel or do or be. Until he couldn't remember how they felt or tasted, or how they smelled coming back from their field work. What did Minho smell like after a dip in the pond when a long day came to a close. He couldn't remember anymore. Probably like nature itself. Thomas could reckon thinking that at one time, or at least he thought he could. </p><p>However that was then and as he slowly descended from his puppet strings and the trio's feet hit the ground, all they could do was smile. They could feel the vibrations as their hands passed through each other. All Thomas wanted was to hear either of them speak but sadly, and Thomas thought this was all too cruel, the dead can't vocalize. So with twisted grins and hollow eyes, they began their trek into the village. Slow and ambling steps became stronger and more purposeful as the night went on.<br/>
Venturing through the town was never a problem. It was silent at night and even though there was a watchmen every here and there, the eyes scanning the dark horizons never lingered on them. It was late when they came to their destination. Thomas never understood how they knew where to go but they did. A force marched them in a direction and their frail figures swayed in line. </p><p>Suddenly, as they had done time and time again, Minho and Newt rammed the wooden barrier with their bodies. The door, predictably, had splintered. They entered the barren room. As they did, they noticed something peculiar. Jonathan and Gerry Retter, sitting in front of the fireplace. The bottle of whiskey near their feet rolled emptily back and forth between the two. Thomas had seen this before. Those in the mob who had been marked for vengeance but instead of running had accepted their fate and had been torn to shreds willingly. Thomas could appreciate the gesture, it saved the three of them a lot of trouble. But now that their marks had been found, it was time to get underway with their endeavor. The boys took their time that night. Scratching and biting and choking and tearing. There was no mercy and though the screams inside the cabin were ones of rage and pain, the outside world seemed none the wiser to them. So, Thomas thought, this was it. The final act of bloodshed and the final night that they would be allowed to have in each other's company.</p><p>It was a melancholy walk back to the gallows and also one of unburdening. Not to his surprise, Minho took the lead in their departure. He went in for a quick hug between the three, their foreheads finally touching, and then turned quickly. With a slight smirk that seemed more of a grimace, he walked into the shadow of the gallows, his form disappearing into the murk. Newt turned then and with a sad nod, followed behind the other boy. His limp no longer visible.<br/>
With that, Tomas was alone, truly, for the first time in five years. He would no longer be trapped in a torturous limbo but he had also lost what gave his existence meaning. It was understood deep in his soul what walking into the dark would do. It would unmake him. Straighten out the wrinkle that was his life and return everything back to zero. For a second he thought about just leaving. If he kept his existence, then Newt and Minho would still exist, in a way. They wouldn't be gone. </p><p>Quickly, however, he shook the idea out of his head. Everything ended, he thought, and just because he got the short end of the stick didn't mean much to the universe, at least not in his experience. So, he walked towards the ocean of black that extended beneath the gallows. As his toes touched the border he hummed a tune that had played the first time the three had danced together at the fall festival. Hidden under a darkness like the very one in front of him they had slung their arms around each other and swayed back and forth, the first time Thomas had learned the taste of another.</p><p>For the moment he still had the time before. Thomas hummed that tune to it's conclusion and in the end, he stepped into the dark.</p>
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